


Secret Skills

by holtzbabe



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Holtz is good at a lot of things, aka Holtz used to have an unexpected job, and sometimes there are very surprising reasons for why she's good at things, this is super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erin is very upset about ectoplasm and wants to move to Canada.</p><p>Holtzmann has an idea to help (so Erin won't have to move to Canada), and gets to showcase a special talent.</p><p>Erin finds out something new about Holtz' past that she can't quite wrap her ectoplasm-covered head around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Skills

Holtz hasn’t seen Erin this upset in a long, long time.

They’ve just all gotten back from a really tricky bust that took them four hours and all the stops to complete. And, as usual, Erin was the only one to get ectoprojected on.

At the beginning of the bust.

Which means she’s been sitting in her slime-drenched jumpsuit for four very long hours, and it’s hardened in her hair and on her skin.

When she gets out of the new-and-improved Ecto-1 and storms into the firehouse finally, she’s shaking. It’s almost imperceptible, but when your life has turned into a case study of Erin Gilbert, you notice these kinds of things.

Holtz catches up with her and touches her arm lightly. “You okay?”

Erin avoids eye contact. “Fine,” she says, and her voice breaks.

She pulls away, but not before Holtz has a chance to see the tears glistening in her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Holtz says, her voice gentle, “what’s wrong? Is it just the slime?”

Erin nods. The tears flow freely down her cheeks now. “Why is it always me? It’s like the world is against me. And now I’ve been sitting for hours, and it’s completely dried in my hair, and knowing my luck I probably won’t be able to get it out, and all my hair is going to snap off, and I won’t have any hair, and I’ll have to move to somewhere where nobody will be able to see me, maybe Canada, and my entire life will be ruined all because these stupid ghosts won’t let me catch a break!” She lets out a loud sob at the end of this speech.

The excessive drama would be comical if she wasn’t so visibly upset by all this. Holtz contemplates for a second, and then she grabs Erin’s hand and tugs her in the direction of the stairs.

“What—where are we going?”

“Just trust me,” Holtz says, and she knows she’s given the other members of her team very little reason to trust her, but they always seem to anyway. Erin falls silent, letting herself be pulled up the stairs.

When they get to the second floor, she leads Erin over to the fancy chemical sink in the corner that Holtz had installed on their first day in the firehouse. She lets go of Erin’s hand, her heart falling a little at the loss of contact, and goes to fetch a stool from the other side of the lab. She sets it in front of the sink, then bends and retrieves a stack of towels from the cupboard underneath. She folds them up and perches them on the edge of the sink, and stares at Erin expectantly.

“Come sit,” she says when Erin doesn’t move. She pats the stool.

“Why?”

“I’m going to wash your hair,” Holtz replies matter-of-factly.

Erin stares at her, then at the sink. “Is that clean?”

“Just washed it a few days ago, and it hasn’t been used since.”

Erin still doesn’t move. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Come sit.”

Erin comes and takes a seat on the stool, somewhat stiffly. Holtz smiles a little to herself, and strips off her gloves, tossing them to the floor. She gathers Erin’s (admittedly brittle) hair in one hand and positions the towels with her other.

“Lean back,” she orders.

Erin does, slowly and clumsily, until she hits the towels. Holtz moves them only slightly so they’re perfectly supporting Erin’s neck, then she releases her hair. She turns on the faucet and hums a song she can’t remember the title of while she waits for the water to get warm.

“Did you say you were gonna move to Canada?” Holtz says suddenly.

Erin’s face goes pink. “Yes…and I still might.”

“Have some faith in me, my dear. I promise I won’t let any of your hair break off.”

She waves a hand under the stream of water and adjusts the temperature. When she’s satisfied, she removes the detachable faucet head and brings it to Erin’s scalp.

“Is the temperature okay?” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Erin says, her voice small.

Holtz gathers a chunk of hair into her hand and lets the hot water run over it for a few seconds, then she experimentally rubs it between her fingers to see if the water is rehydrating the slime. Already, the hair is more malleable, so she brings the stream up higher to reach the rest.

“Y’know, people live in Canada too. It’s not just an empty wasteland up there,” Holtz says after a minute or two of silence except for the sound of water hitting the metal of the sink.

“I know.” Erin sighs. “But there’s a lot of remote areas, right? There’s gotta be somewhere where I wouldn’t have to face people.”

“Theoretically.”

Holtz brings the faucet head up to Erin’s hair line and moves her hand so it blocks water from trickling down her face.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it feels like you’ve done this before,” Erin comments.

Holtz shuts off the water and returns the head to it’s holder. She takes a section of hair and starts gently combing her fingers through to remove the slime. “I’ve done it lots, actually. I used to be a hairdresser.”

Erin laughs.

Holtz’ fingers pause. She frowns, even though Erin can’t see it. “I’m serious.”

Erin tilts her head up so she can see Holtz’ face. “What?”

“I went to beauty school just after graduation and then worked as a hairdresser all throughout my undergrad, masters, and doctorate. Had to pay the bills somehow, and it was better than waitressing.” Holtz smiles a toothy grin down at Erin. “Surprised?”

“I mean…yeah. That’s the last thing I would’ve expected.”

Holtz gently angles Erin’s head back down and resumes combing through her hair. “I worked for this cool small salon that catered mostly towards queer women. I’ve been told I’m incredibly talented with an electric razor. My clients all loved me.”

“That’s…less surprising.”

“I mean come on, did you think any old person could put together all that I’ve got going on upstairs?” Holtz removes one slimy hand to gesture to her own ‘do. “This is the result of _years_ of experimentation, a sound knowledge of physics, and the insider scoop on the best hair products on the market.”

She returns her hand to Erin’s hair and squeegees out a handful of ectoplasm, then shakes it into the sink with a sickening glooping noise.

“This is all so bizarre,” Erin says. “You were a _hairdresser_. Do you have any other secret talents I should know about?”

Holtz laughs quietly. “I’m really good with my hands?” This is the type of quip that she normally punctuates with a wink, just to see how Erin reacts, but the current angle is a little restricting. Besides, Erin’s eyes are closed now.

Erin snorts.

Holtz smiles wickedly to herself. She’s going to make Erin regret laughing. She moves her hands to Erin’s scalp and then runs them through the length of her hair, a little less gentle than before. Not enough to hurt, just enough to—

Erin’s breath hitches, and Holtz’ smirk grows more pronounced.

She retracts her hands—noticing Erin’s almost inaudible sigh—and searches through the bottom cabinet, looking for something, anything…ah ha. She grabs a nearly-full bottle of Dawn from the back and squeezes a substantial amount into her palm. She lathers it up, and then begins working it through Erin’s hair.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“It smells like dish soap.”

“Shhhh.”

Her nimble fingers, primed from years of working on finicky machines, methodically twist and pull until every hair is coated in the suds. She’s not lying about being good with her hands. She’ll let Erin make the rest of the mental leap herself.

She starts massaging the soap into Erin’s scalp next, and she knows from years of experience the exact right pressure to use. She can’t resist digging her thumbs into Erin’s temples, trying to release some of the tension there.

Erin gasps, very quietly, and Holtz looks down at the sound. Erin’s eyes fly open, and there are tears swimming in them.

“Did I get soap in your eye?” Holtz asks, concerned.

Erin blinks several times, trying to clear the moisture. “No, it’s…” She clears her throat, then shuts her eyes again, and starts speaking so quickly that Holtz has to crane to hear what she says. “It’s been a while since anyone touched me. It’s just nice. It’s really nice. And comforting. God, that’s embarrassing. I’m sorry. I’m making this weird. I—”

“Hey. Erin,” Holtz cuts her off, “it’s okay. Don’t apologize. You’re human. We all want to feel loved.” She starts kicking herself mentally for not being more physically affectionate with Erin. She is with the others—always leaning on Abby’s shoulder or climbing on Patty’s back—but she’s always been hesitant to touch Erin in fear that her feelings for the physicist will become obvious. Now, though…screw it.

“I’m an emotional mess today.” Erin wipes at her eyes.

“It’s okay to be an emotional mess,” Holtz replies. She reaches for the faucet head and turns the water on. As the hot water hits again, Erin shivers. Holtz rinses the suds down the drain and continues to comb her fingers through to make sure all the soap and leftover ectoplasm gets removed. The dish soap worked surprisingly well; no residual slime clings to the hairs. She wipes off the back of Erin’s neck as well.

She watches the last of the ectoplasm swirl down the drain, and shuts the water off. She grabs another towel from down below the sink and wraps it tight around Erin’s head, then helps her sit back up. She dries her hair as thoroughly as possible, and then tosses the towel in the sink. Erin’s hair hangs wet and clean around her face, and the scent of lemon wafts over Holtz.

She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the sink, and tears off a large wad, wetting it. She comes around to stand in front of Erin and crouches.

“What are you—”

“Close your eyes,” Holtz says.

Erin obliges. One of Holtz’ hands goes to the back of Erin’s head to hold her steady, and then she brings the wet paper towel to Erin’s forehead and starts cleaning off the dried ectoplasm there with gentle strokes. Erin leans into the touch, and Holtz has to tell herself that it’s only because of the human contact thing.

Holtz gets a fresh stack of paper towel and starts by swooping it down Erin’s nose, the same one that always crinkles up when Erin’s either irritated with something or deep in work. Then she traces down the side of Erin’s face and wipes off one pink cheek, then the other. She finishes with her chin, and then lowers the paper towel.

Erin’s eyes open, and Holtz realizes that at some point she moved her hand from the back of Erin’s head to cup along her jaw. She goes to pull it away, and Erin’s hand jumps to cover hers, keeping it there.

They stare at each other for several moments. Holtz’ brain is short-circuiting. All it can focus on is how close they are and how easy it would be to close the distance between them and—

Her body must be working ahead of her brain, for once, because suddenly her lips are on Erin’s and she’s not even sure how they got there. She’s about to pull away and apologize when she feels warm hands on her back, pulling her closer.

Her first thought is _she just wants to be touched; she’s lonely._

Her second thought is _but she’s kissing me with an intensity like she’s been thinking about it for a long time_.

They break apart after maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours. Holtz hums contentedly. “You taste like ectoplasm.”

“I do not.” Erin laughs.

“Pretty sure you do. Wait, come here, let me make sure.” Holtz pulls Erin back in, fingers tangling in her wet hair.

When they come up for air again, Erin shifts in her jumpsuit. “I’d love to continue this, but I _really_ want to get out of this jumpsuit and into a shower. You did a lovely job with my hair, but there’s still ectoplasm covering every other part of my body.”

Holtz’ eyes twinkle. “I could help you with that, too.”

Erin rolls her eyes and smacks Holtz’ arm lightly. “Nice try.”

“I’m good with my hands.” Holtz waggles her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“I bet you are,” Erin says, then flushes. She stands quickly, pulling Holtz to her feet as well. “I’ll be back.” She leans in and presses a quick kiss to Holtz’ lips.

Holtz can’t help but smile and marvel at how new this is, but how right it already feels. She watches Erin walk away towards the stairs.

“Oh, and for the record,” she calls after Erin’s retreating back, “I’m really, _really_ happy that you aren’t moving to Canada.”

Erin turns and smiles. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's late and I'm tired and this is unbetaed. Apologies for any mistakes I didn't catch!
> 
> I got this idea when I was having my hair done the other day and I don't know where the heck I got the headcannon that Holtz used to be a hairdresser but...yeah I have no clue.
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr (holtzmannerin) and if you tell me that you came from here, you'll get 10 friendship points!


End file.
